No Matter What
by Canadian Hero
Summary: -Notice: This story is unlikely to be finished anytime soon. Or updated. It is advised you ignore this story until the original summary is put back up and it is reopened in activity.-
1. Chapter 1

"Feliciano Vargas. Charged for possession of multiple lethal weapons without license and assault of an unarmed official."

The coffee-haired woman sitting behind her desk said to the man looking over her shoulder without even turning to address him. When he nodded, she lifted a small packet laying to her right and held it above her head for him to take. He did, promptly using his chance to scan over its content.

The man frowned. "When did you guys bring him in, Eli?" he asked, having been absent the whole ordeal. Before the woman could respond again, though, a voice barged into the conversation. She blinked in surprise at the unexpected interruption, even if grateful that she wasn't the one being given all the interrogating light.

"Kirkland brought him in at noon today. I vas vith him vhen ve saw Vargas in the airport, near the entrance to the next flight for Italy," said the voice, "A security guard vas checking him for veapons vhen he found him armed all over vith these." The man and woman turned to see the speaker - a well-built blonde man with shining sky blue eyes - gesturing towards a thin metal table top opposite of all three of them. The sandy-haired man holding the packet of paper brightened with understanding.

"O-oh, so that's why those are there," he said. The blonde shook his head at the other man hopelessly before walking over to the collection of weapons - the sandy-haired one close behind while the woman remained seated.

The blonde was the one who spoke, running his fingers over the nearest pistol, "I've no idea vhere anyone vould have gotten these veapons without leaving traces," he said almost absently. He looked like he was about to continue, but the sandy-haired one with glasses complimenting his eyes beat him to it, questioning the other on why. The man fingering the weapons sighed. "There isn't any record of purchase for any guns like these that I've been able to find for at least a 163-mile radius, and even then, it was the purchase of an AK-47 bought by a voman, Alfred."

Alfred frowned down at the assortment of rifles and handguns, but before he could answer back to his friend, the coffee-haired woman from before was between them both. She picked up the largest gun on the table, gripping it by its rather large in itself clip.

"Ludwig - you're trying to tell me Vargas managed to sneak an AR-15 all throughout the airport, with no one noticing, until he reached the security deck? It's practically as big as him!" she exclaimed, turning to the blonde she had addressed as Ludwig. A small tint of what could be called a blush inked over his cheeks and Alfred snorted, not understanding how the woman - out of all people - was the one that was able to make Ludwig blush.

"Of course not. He vas carrying it in his belongings."

"Isn't someone suppose to check everyone's belongings before they even enter the building?"

"Vhy don't you ask the guard who found it?"

"And who would that be?"

Alfred was the one to answer for Ludwig that time, having been scanning the extra page at the back of the report describing the details of Vargas' arrest while they were arguing. "His name is Feel-ix Lukas-ee-wicks or something, Elizaveta," he said, attempting to sound out the name. Elizaveta snatched the paper from his hands without warning, looking for where it mentioned the man.

"You mean- uh. Feliks Look-ass-i-...Ludwig, help," she said, immediately handing the packet to the stoic man. He jumped a bit at the sudden turn of conversation focus but quickly recovered, scanning over the name his comrades were having trouble with.

"Feliks Łukasiewicz-?"

"Yes, thank you," Elizaveta huffed, snatching it back from Ludwig's hands before he had even finished his last syllable. She folded the packet inside out so it was easier for her to read, and Alfred went back to peering over her arm for a view. She read aloud, "Feliks -whateverLudwigsaid- was a newly stationed security guard at the time of Vargas' arrest, having been set with the charge of his first job ever since earning his bachelor's degree in criminal justice at Kaplan University."

Ludgwig - who had been preoccupied on observing the guns ever since being deprived of the printed words Elizaveta was reading from - perked up at the passage. "Quite impressive, if you ask me. Even some senior security guards vould be hesitant vhen facing such a new situation." This, however, only served to feed Alfred's curiousity all the more. He settled for a childish pout, one that wouldn't normally be included in the preferred characteristics for the head of the field cop unit.

"Dude, how exactly am I suppose to be dealing with some guy who hasn't even gone to court yet when I don't know what happened? Can someone please explain?"

When Elizaveta failed to answer, indulging herself within the clutches of the report article, the blonde man beside the other sighed yet again and pointed towards the exit of the tall headquarters they were within. "You should still be able to catch Kirkland if you hurry. He knows the details, boss." The last word was hurriedly added on and Alfred could have taken it as a mocking gesture had he not already been out the door. The woman beside Ludwig looked up only to find herself alone with the past military field officer.

"You know, Beilschmidt - it explains what happened right here," she deadpanned, elevating the flat printer packet Alfred had been formerly holding.

Ludwig Beilschmidt didn't even turn, "I know, I read it. I vas just using it as an excuse to get him to leave."

XX

* * *

"Artie - my man!"

There was only one reaction that ever could be triggered by the addressed man upon hearing that certain voice - especially while getting into a cab. He turned to face the driver, "Start driving straight, quick!"

"Yessir," responded the surprised man, shifting the car off parking. It was, however, too late for them - as the cheerful face of justice was already pressed against the window.

"ArtieArtie, I seriously need to ask you some questions!" The face morphed into one of surprise as the car refused to cease its forward motion - which made him have to hobble along to stay in touch. The driver stared, before looking back at the man seated behind him. In reality, he was unsure of what to do just then - not having really registered the situation. Was it serious, should he call the cops?

Arthur Kirkland - eyebrows that while scrunched appeared as if they were crawling caterpillars and all - groaned softly as he requested for the taxi driver to stop the car. The driver obediently reversed the taxi back to its parked position while Arthur moved to roll the window down so he and Alfred could speak with one another.

Hardly breathless, the sandy-haired head of the field police flashed a bedazzling grin towards his comrade. Arthur grunted, finding it hard to stay annoyed with the idiot. "What do you bloody want?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. Alfred didn't even hesitate.

"Okay, so me and Lud were talking and he told me all about a new guy he brought in today. Well, I asked about it and he said that you brought the guy in too. Felic- Feely? Fleece? Felix? Felik? Yeah, I think it was Felik. I don't really remember the name, but anyway," he continued, "No one would explain to me what happened, so Lud told me to come find you! Good thing I caught you just before you left."

Arthur huffed in self-defeat, wishing he had not taken the extra time to tidy up his office desk within the headquarters before heading out for the day. Now he just had a longer shift. "Yeah, good thing," he mumbled dejectedly.

"What was that?" inquired the ever bright American, tilting his head with an almost too wide smile. Arthur would have been blinded by it had the smile been in the form of non-imaginary light.

"Oh, nothing. I was just wondering why Ludwig couldn't have told you the story."

Alfred shrugged, "He isn't very good at explaining things. You would have thought all the time he spends curled up in a corner with random textbooks would have given him at least that."

At the sound of a voice being only a tad more than subtly cleared, the two turned their heads towards the driver's seat to see a petite young man wave his palm in the air an inch. He chuckled nervously, "I hope you don't mind, but this is a pubric taxi... If you aren't going to be riding, I'd appreciate it if you courd step back and let someone erse have a chance." The taxi driver finished with a straight neutral expression as Alfred peered over his own shoulder to spot a few loitering figures standing about, finding what the man had said to be proven correct. He looked back at Arthur.

"What? I'll tell you at work tomorrow. My time is done and you are not coming home with me," huffed the blonde being pinpointed, a blonde which was complete witness to the sight of Alfred's face falling from it's usually enthusiastic expression.

Alfred was about to open his mouth to ask a question when Arthur was already answering it. "No."

"I didn't even say anything."

The unfaltering man rolled his eyes. "You were about to, and that's what counts."

Giving a flying glance towards the patiently sitting sleek haired figure up front, Alfred swung open the back door before Arthur had even time to protest. This, however, didn't stop the Englishman from doing just that even after Alfred had climbed into the vehicle. "W-what! You bloody idiot, I just said you couldn't come with me - what do you think you're doing?" he practically shouted. The American had to restrain himself from playfully smacking his flushed coworker on the back.

The man behind the wheel turned to peer at the two of them, silently watching Alfred strap in his seatbelt and Arthur practically explode like a firework before deciding to concentrate his focus on the former. The American looked up at him with yet another optimistic look of his and spoke out directions for his apartment. Still fuming, Arthur almost didn't catch what he had said, but when he did it was blaringly obvious to him that it wasn't directions to Arthur's own residence.

He took a moment to be sure that he wouldn't stutter in question. "Why are we going back to your apartment?" he asked, adding an almost soft growl as an under layer to his words. Alfred tilted his head just a tad, as if it were an incredibly dumb inquiry.

"Isn't it obvious? You didn't want me to go to your place to talk about Felik, so we're going to mine. Man, you're pretty slow."

Arthur took a deep breath to hold back his offense at the casually thrown remark. "I am not slow, I was just asking a question. What I said earlier never offered the request to go to your hold either - I said it so you would get that I didn't wish to linger with you today."

There was a flash of hurt in Alfred's eyes, but it was gone before Arthur could even confirm that it was ever there. "Well, you never said you didn't want to!"

"Of course that would be invitation enough for you, I take it?"

"Pretty much," came Alfeds response, and that was the end of the conversation.

* * *

**Thank you for reading the first chapter of my story ****_No Matter What_****! Aye, I do hope you enjoyed and will continue to enjoy future chapters!**

**Please do Review! All Reviews are eagerly awaited, as I dont know what you liked about my story until you say so~ If you liked something specific or would love to see a pairing/action that would fit the plot later on, I will be more than happy to do my best for your wishes!**

**Until then.~**


	2. Chapter 2

"Who in the bloody hell is Felik?" exclaimed Arthur once he and Alfred had gotten out of the car, and Alfred had asked for details about the arrest at noon. The American frowned in confusion.

"The guy you arrested?" came his uncertain reply. He observed as Arthur's eyebrows drew together with thought, almost like you pulled two halves of a curtain closed. It was sort of cute.

"I have never in my life met a man named Felik. Ludwig and I simply brought in a small crazy gunman," stated Arthur with firm conviction. This, however, made Alfred brighten like a light bulb switch.

"That's who I'm talking about. What's the guy you dragged back's name?"

Arthur stared at him in bewilderment, "Feliciano Vargas," he said. Did Alfred seriously not know about the arrest? Half an hour ago while he'd still been in the building it was the biggest talk around.

Alfred grinned so much wider than he had already that it literally came to the point where it was about to start scaring the poor blonde man beside him. Arthur was going to take a hesitant step back when Alfred was already on the move again, stepping off the corner of sidewalk pavement they both had been balancing next to after their taxi drove off. He reached into his pocket as they simultaneously approached the simple entry door to his apartment building.

"Feliciano Vargas - I want you to tell me more about him on top of what exactly had happened back at the airport once we get up to my place."

Arthur blinked back at the creepily optimistic man in front of him, following Alfred as he stepped into the small entryway and up the long flight of tile stairs. "I thought I only had to tell him what happened at the airport?" muttered the Englishman under his breath. But he figured it didn't necessarily matter - after all, as horribly illogical as it seemed, Alfred was his boss.

It took longer than Arthur would have appreciated for them to get to the next floor, and he would have been rather happy to sit down on a couch in Alfred's place right then had he not soon figured out Alfred's apartment was much higher up. The blonde would have complained of the lack of convenient elevator use, before summing up that Alfred out of all people would have quite loved to use the elevator instead of walking, and reasoned that if they were indeed walking then there must not have been any other option. As it turned out, Alfred lived on the fifth floor, at the end of an irritatingly long hallway.

The keychain to the apartment room jingled as Alfred went to unlock his door. It took a good amount of time because of all the keys that seemed to have magically materialized in his hands, but the American managed to get the lock undone and hold open the door kindly for Arthur to step inside.

They sat on the couch before Alfred decided to actually acknowledge his role as host. After all the years he had been friends with the Englishman next to him, he already knew what drink the man preferred and promptly got up to go make it. Arthur frowned, "Where are you going now?"

Alfred didn't answer until he was already in the kitchen. "I'm thirsty, and I bet you are too." Arthur bobbed his head in silent gratitude, even if Alfred couldn't see him. He had to admit that Alfred could be quite the gentleman - sometimes.

"Well, as it is blazingly apparent that you dragged me here for a reason, I might as well explain what you want and get it done with." Alfred poked his head around the corner of the kitchen counter wall and smiled in confirmation for what Arthur had said. In truth, Alfred would have brought the Englishman to his apartment even if it weren't for work, but he already knew that Arthur would never allow that and would rather just go back to his own place to sit down on his couch with a book. Ducking back into his kitchen and behind the safety of a plastered white wall, Alfred sighed - for once his enthusiastic attitude dimming - as Arthur began his story.

"Ludwig and I were parked at the end of the airport down near New York City, Ludwig in the American drivers side, when I needed to go to the bathroom. He decided to stay there to keep a look out on things and guard the car, so I got out and went into the airport building since it was closest." Arthur paused when Alfred walked back into the main room with a cup of tea in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He accepted the tea wordlessly. "When I got back out of the bathroom, I was about to go outside when I noticed some commotion in the crowd. There was more people than usual, and most weren't actually going anywhere - it might have just been a busy time, but then they wouldn't be loitering, and it's a bloody Wednesday! I didn't think that many people would be hanging around at the bottom floor of an airport in New York on a bloody Wednesday.

"I didn't ask anyone what was going on because I doubted that one person would know why a whole crowd of people was doing what they were doing, so I followed them to the back of the first floor. I was about to give up since everyone there was spaced out and not bundled together when I heard the gunshots and everyone started to run.

"I called Ludwig immediately, and hung up before he could answer in my haste to get upstairs and see the situation first hand. It wasn't hard to find an escalator, and from there on it was easy to find a door entering a staircase.

"By the time I had gotten up the stairs, almost no one was standing. Everyone was under the luggage check counters, chairs, or even tucked away in corners. One man though, blonde haired - I think in his report he was named Felik, which may be who you mistaken Feliciano for - was half standing and half crouching behind the edge of a stack of metal trays, as if deciding whether or not to get up or to sit down. I would have made him crawl under something had I not been forced to take cover myself, because beside Felik was a small brunette man going crazy with a rifle."

Alfred laughed at the image in his imagination describing the scene. He hadn't seen the criminal just yet, but the situation that his comrade was explaining sounded far too priceless. Arthur only shook his head and went on.

"He actually had a bloody rifle in his hands - it was monstrous! Ludwig had gotten it from Felik after the arrest and brought it back to the headquarters while I put Vargas behind bars. As Felik later explained, it seemed that he was trying to get Vargas to put his large luggage - I think he said that Vargas claimed it was a piano, but I've no idea - on the luggage check slide, but Vargas only refused. Finally, when multiple security guards were starting to flock and trying to get the bags from the man's hands, Vargas must have panicked, because he whipped out the rifle faster than any of them could register what was going on and started shooting at everything in sight."

Alfred blinked for a moment, "He doesn't seem very - bright." Arthur could only nod. If only they knew.

"After that, while I was waiting for Ludwig as back up to bring some support with weapons - or anything really - the only thing I had on my person was the required gun - I saw Felik actually resume his bold tactics in getting up. Meeting him afterward, I find it hard to register that he was even allowed into criminal justice training, and that was after he warmed up to me. Before, he tried to either run away or just stared at me, not knowing how to speak. I think he might be bipolar," he pondered.

"Anyway, the second he was standing and Vargas' back was turned, Felik literally jumped onto his back and wrapped around the small man from behind like a child does to their father on a piggyback ride. The second the gun was dropped out of shock, I ran over and tackled them both to the ground in case Felik's weight was not enough. Ludwig by that time had arrived and helped me arrest the flailing, uncontrollable criminal."

Alfred leaned forward, already immensely intrigued by the entire event. When hearing that Arthur had nothing else to say in terms of basic overview, he tilted his head to one side in question, "Was anyone hurt?"

Arthur shook his head and Alfred bobbed his own in satisfaction. "It's obvious that he panics easily if things don't seem to be going with plan. Not like other gunmen I've seen, who adjust so quickly to new situations that it feels like they looked into the future and prepared before time," mumbled the American thoughtfully. He continued with a slightly bolder voice, "In fact, thinking about it, it doesn't sound like Vargas wanted to actually injure anyone. Which would mean that all the gunshots were just warnings to get back so he could pass through - even if it should have been pretty clear that he definitely wasn't going to escape through a public plane."

Arthur would have scowled had it not been for what they were discussing. Alfred always had the annoying habit to analyze things so deeply, and yet couldn't ever read the atmosphere of a table even if his worst enemy were towering over him with a knife in hand. Arthur figured that the American would probably laugh and ask if the other needed help cutting his steak. "Then why was he trying to sneak a bloody rifle onto a plane for bloody Italy if he didn't want to bloody hurt anyone?"

"He probably had a specific target and would only hurt his target on the plane - and considering the topic, you might want to calm down on all the blood," suggested Alfred. Arthur got up with an undignified huff at what he considered to be an offense remark, and replied in preparation to start a fight - refusing to be put on the defensive.

"That's still hurting someone, smart arse." Alfred grinned light heartedly as he recognized what Arthur was trying to win, but before he could actually prove how much of a smart arse he could be, they both had their attention promptly distracted.

"Well then, it isn't every day you walk into a conversation hinting towards possible homicide." Wheeling around, Arthur came face to face with an amused expression and the soft click of a shutting door. Alfred's playful grin morphed into a larger smile of yet more enthusiasm from across the room.

"Mattie!" he called, getting up to greet his near identical twin with a deadly hug. The man being hugged only laughed, twisting somewhat in his brother's grip to set the groceries he had been carrying on the kitchen counter.

Arthur nodded in his direction, "Hello Matthew."

Hopping free from Alfred's embrace, Matthew turned to welcome what he took as his guest with a polite smile. He gestured towards the multicolored bags leaning into the sink. "Hello Arthur, I haven't seen you in a while. Would you and Al like something to eat? It seems you two got out of work early."

Before Arthur could protest, being too much of the gentleman sort to accept food that must have cost quite a bit, Alfred's voice beat him to it. "Why not? You guys have to be hungry! I'm going to call in to work and say I left for detective reasons - I am a field cop, after all. I'm basically on the job right now." With that he scurried out of the room, and Arthur all but watched the rapidly retreating form before turning to see Matthew's look of question. Arthur gave a small smile, one that dwarfed under Alfred's all the way in the other room.

"I'm not going to hold you back from having food; I must admit that I haven't had supper yet."

XX

* * *

When Alfred got off the phone with Elizaveta, who had claimed that Ludwig was off interrogating Vargas though neither of them could fathom why, he ambled back into the living room only to figure out that the others were chatting in the kitchen. Alfred poked his head around the corner of the unpainted wall.

"Welcome back, Al!" Alfred nodded his thanks to his brother as he walked up beside them. In one swift glance, the man worriedly took in the large amount of spice containers littered all over the kitchen counter, and a certain distraught Englishman holding a bottle of peppermint in one hand and a bottle of barley in the other.

Alfred turned to regard Matthew with a look of exaggerated concern, expressed through his widened eyes that peered over the rim of his glasses. "Oh no, are we trying to put together a nuclear bomb in here?"

"Of course, because a bunch of plants will cause an entire house to flood with deadly radiation by being mixed together in a kettle of boiling honey and syrup," the twin deadpanned.

Alfred acknowledged Matthew's words as he looked into the kettle of liquid that was being leisurely mixed with a wooden spoon. "Honey and syrup? With leaves?"

"Uh-no. It's more of the bittersweet sort of honey with organic maple syrup, and the little bit of mint is to make them sort of 'crystallized' after cooli-Arthur, if you eat that, I'm not driving you to the hospital!"

Whirling around to face the victim of Matthew's attention, Alfred found Arthur frozen as if caught red-handed with a large amount of cinnamon sloped on a rather large spoon, which had replaced the two former bottles of barley and peppermint in his hands. Arthur frowned innocently, "I wasn't going to eat it like this - and if I did, why would I need to go to the hospital?" he protested.

Alfred almost pouted, "You really haven't been a teenager, have you?"

"A suicidal teenager," Matthew corrected, leaning above his honey and syrup mixture to lower the heat on the stove. "The cinnamon challenge is what kids nowadays seem to like doing, they challenge each other to who can eat a large spoonful of cinnamon the fastest. I was just making sure you weren't going to be retarded and see how it tasted."

"Well it's made me bloody curious now!" exclaimed Arthur, setting the spoon gently beside the sink. He continued, "And I still don't see how it could have killed me."

"Google it," came Alfred's leading reply. Matthew said nothing - just shook his head and returned to his beloved syrup, honey, and water.

* * *

XX

Before dinner was ready, there were multiple debates about various subjects in cooking. Alfred wisely stayed out of it, instead settling for hopping onto the kitchen counter while his brother was distracted and couldn't tell him to get off like a little child, watching with an amused expression as the two men heatedly argued over the best cooking techniques.

"That's far too low in temperature! At this rate it'll take ages for that thing to cook." Screw being a gentleman, Arthur was far too annoyed with the current cook to care. Being a gentleman was reserved for first impressions, and moments when the twin host of an apartment didn't contradict his opinions on what he supposed was everything.

Matthew hadn't even turned to look at him, "I'm not trying to cook it," he claimed.

"It's too cool for you to do anything with it anyway! Turn it up a notch at least."

The cook looked down into the little leaping drops of liquid in his kettle. "If that's what you consider cool, I'm afraid to see what's considered boiling."

"Certainly not that."

"Arthur, it's about to evaporate."

"No, it's not."

"Then why is the liquid level lower than before?"

"You probably emptied it when I wasn't looking."

"...I refuse to answer to that."

"You just did."

"Not with a reasonable answer, though."

"It was still an answer."

"So if I sing the rest of the time, that will be considered a reasonable answer too?"

"Of cou-Wait."

"Thought so."

As if to prove his point, Matthew reached over and turned off the heat, placing the kettle on a cold ring of stove surface. He left it there to cool.

"Won't that create a rather sticky mess?" Arthur asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion at the idling liquid mixture. Matthew nodded as he walked around the other man to retrieve more supplies from the grocery bags.

"Doesn't mean it won't taste good," stated the twin calmly.

"Syrup, water, honey, and leaves. That's suppose to taste good?"

"...And yet, you haven't even tried it."

"I'm starting to doubt that I want to."

"So instead you're going to judge a kettle by its metal?"

"I'm going to judge a kettle by its liquid."

"Then that would mean you were judging the liquid by its mixture."

"No, I'm judging the liquid for what it has in it."

"That rhymed just as much as what I had said."

"Yes, but mine makes more sense."

"...I'm just going to return to my cooking."

"Bloody hell! Why do you always leave arguments so unfinished?"

"I just can."

"Your impossible."

Matthew didn't answer.

"See? You did it again!" accused Arthur.

"And that, my good friend, is how you distinguish adults from children."

"Nor are you making any sense!"

"Of course not, children never understand adults conversations."

"That would mean you would have been talking with yourself this entire time."

"Adults can have imaginary friends."

"So you just called me imaginary?"

"You just said you didn't exist - so I replaced you."

Alfred was shocked at how well Matthew and Arthur got along.

Dinner was served in the form of chicken and the side of an extremely odd yet refreshing dinner roll, which had been dipped in the special liquid that Matthew had crystallized over it after adding quite a bit of other ingredients. Alfred promptly named the liquid the 'mamatt syrup' in honour of absolutely transforming Matthew's nickname and a later debate which involved claiming Matthew as an old mother in disguise - but the name eventually stuck.

Arthur refused to touch any inch of the dinner roll, but when Alfred had dug into it, he was surprised to find an almost raw doughy inside. He asked Matthew about it, but Matthew said that was on purpose, and Alfred found that it gave a really unusual lift of flavour to the entire pastry. Besides, as Matthew had known after living with him after so long, the man had a weakness for raw cookie rough - and the inside wasn't actually much different.

The chicken's smell by itself was something to drool over. With all the spices that had been added, even Matthew himself was quite overwhelmed after being used to his brother's fast food for so long. Arthur had always gotten take-out, using the excuse that he didn't find wasting money on weekly shopping trips necessary, even if it would have been cheaper. In truth, all Matthew had done was get an ordinary chicken before using his favourite herbs in last minute decision to cook with it. He was rather pleased with the effect, and decided that he would start using herbs not only for healing, but for cooking more often.

Arthur hadn't known that he would be staying for a full blown dinner, but didn't find reason to complain. It was a nice change from his normal routine, even if he wanted to read some more of his book before he forced himself to bed. When they had finished and Arthur apologised for staying over so long by cleaning the dishes - even while Alfred was protesting beside him - they all found themselves in a circle at the door.

"Thank you both for the dinner - it was honestly very good," he genuinely said. A light pink dusted over Matthew's cheeks, despite their earlier quarreling. He always reacted that way to such compliments. Alfred just pouted.

"Wish you would stay over longer." Arthur just shook his head.

"I've stayed over for long enough, and besides - we both have work tomorrow," the Englishman stated, before turning to Matthew in a sudden strike of curiousity. "And I would assume you would too, wherever you work."

Matthew just gave a soft smile, "I'm only an herbalist, and not the most important either - so I don't have to wake up very early."

Arthur had to blink back his surprise. In all honesty, he'd expected the younger of the two twins to have a job at some place like McDonalds, judging by Alfred's own obsession with such buildings. He found himself not being more wronged. "Really?" he asked with expressed interest. Matthew nodded.

"I grow my own herbs down by the greenhouse on the outskirts of the city and have a small office - I guess you could call it that - nearby. I work as a gardener for the greenhouse too."

Arthur started to turn around, pondering the new information. "Well then, I wish you luck with your job - I'll make sure to contact you if I ever get sick." Matthew gave a slightly larger blush. "Good-night." With a nod to the two of them, Arthur walked out, shutting the door behind him.

There was a moment of silence before Alfred - as usual - spoke up, "That went well."

XX

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**I'm never going to stop internally squealing, I swear! I got not one review, but TWO reviews for Chapter 1 of this story! I also got 2 follows, which means everyone who followed did the most amazing thing ever - they reviewed!**

**Now, two people may not seem like much to you popular people out there, but personally, that's the fastest response I've ever gotten on a story - and most of the time, the most responses. **

**So big hugs and thanks to Citrine Sunflower and Itanohira for taking some time to drop a comment my way! And it wasn't just a 'cool' either, it was a real comment! |D Ah, maybe I get excited over things too easily? Oh well, this is just too new! I LOVE YOU.**

**...In other news, hope you enjoyed some Canada and Britain arguments! Ah, I tried not to make it sound TOO much like an argument France and Britain would have...**

**Screw it. Theres' such thing as French-Canadian.**

**NOTE: I MADE-UP what Matthew was making. PURELY MADE UP. I haven't tried it nor do I think it would work out very well! ...But it does sound good, I must admit.**


	3. Chapter 3

"I've got the stuff."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Bring it back to Base. I'll be in the tunnels to take it to V6 as planned."

"Be careful of what you say here. How do you want me to come?"

"Like originally - you should be nearby if everything went accordingly. Take Toris', he shouldn't give you any trouble."

Then the line went dead.

M8 didn't even stop to watch the caller ID go to the history of the cell phone before dropping it on the floor. With almost eerily calm movements, he crushed the device with the heel of his foot, twisting his leg like he would a bug, until that was all that it was. A bug. He gripped the outer case pieces of the once telephone and clutched it tight within his closed fist, before rearing his arm back and chucking the unrecognizable parts into the restless ocean beside him, watching as they were unceremoniously swallowed whole.

Next to M8 cowered the uncertain but none the less mortally terrified owner of the once device, attempting to soundlessly scoot away from the man. Scraping against loose rubble pavement with whimpers escaping the throat every few seconds failed to be silent to his ears, however, and M8 promptly curled his wrist until it was covered by his shirt sleeve and bent to pick up the remnants of the gutted technology by his foot.

The man really should have ran while M8 was on the phone - but it was obvious that in the 21st century, technology had become more important than someone's life. No life overpowered so easily was worth anything to the world - and that was what M8 knew with cold sureness as he turned to face the man who was beginning to sob.

The man could only choke on his own tears as M8 moved forward - closer and closer he came; and when M8 finally reached the man, all he really did was open the man's mouth with his other covered hand.

That's what M8 only did at first, but the man opening his mouth ended up being what killed him. There was excruciating pain from the man's throat as the inside was ripped open from the sharp, broken technology parts before he died. His eyes began to bleed only after his fate had been sealed.

Just like V6 said. No life so easily overpowered by technology was worth anything to the world.

* * *

Most people that were the owners of a ship expected to be killed by the ever so sudden act of drowning. Not Toris - never Toris. He knew that he was open for anything.

This was why when Toris saw the silhouetted figure standing on the ship dock staring straight at him, he just paused and stared back. Sure, the poor man who had lived as nothing more but the driver of a ship was shaking to his heels, but it was only to be assumed that someone would come after him sooner or later. Especially ever since that former encounter with one of the street people's kind - and especially since the increase of crime rates in his current town of Pesaro, South Italy.

"H-hello?" he called into the dark, trying hard to look the man blanketed with the shadows of that night in the eyes - or wherever he thought the eyes would be - but finding it unreasonably difficult. M8 moved off the dock and stepped onto the ship.

"Toris, what are you doing on the ship so late?" his voice came as a whisper, as if speaking aloud were deadly. Toris lowered his voice as well without even realizing it.

"W-ho are y-you?" came the unsteady response. There was a soft laugh.

"I'm just a nobody who needs to borrow this ship for a moment or two, and would kindly appreciate it if you'd do as I say before I hurt you," M8 replied matter of factly. Toris' mouth opened and closed like a fish would do, finding himself unsure of just what to say. M8 walked closer.

Tori's stiffened, "C-can you not find another ship? I need to g-get s-some supp-plies to another dock by sss-ssun up." He didn't know how he was still standing, his legs threatened to snap under him at any moment.

M8 looked to either side of him curiously, and Toris' face burned with realisation at his mistake. "I hope you're well aware that you're the only one docked here."

There was no answer. M8 took that as a good sign and turned back to Toris. "Now, will you listen or will we do this the hard way?"

Toris couldn't breathe at all, and he felt like crying - partly from frustration at just that reason. He gulped and nodded, hoping that listening to the man was worth it. "W-wi-ll you l-l-let me go aft-terwords?" he stammered. There was the cold, round sensation of a barrel being pressed against the spine of his neck, and shivers immediately ran throughout his body.

"Of course. The decision is up to you, after all."

* * *

It didn't take long by any means. Not long before he realized that there was no possible way that he could get out of his situation. He knew the desired location of a member to who knew what dealing gang, and there was absolutely no reason for the man to let him out alive; with or without the seemingly important information. He knew this - and yet he could do nothing about it. Nothing but prepare.

This was how Toris was prepared for when his ship was sunk. No traces could be left of such dangerous people - no footsteps or fingerprints of the mysterious man that had boarded his vessel. So of course the man had sunk his ship, along with his entire job and way of living, and rather useful materials that could have given him a good amount of money had the mysterious man not waited thirty minutes longer before arriving with the aura of disaster sweeping the floor he walked.

Silently, Toris watched as the flames danced across the surface of still water. It was like black ice, that water. Dark, foreboding, and never giving you any hints of what it might bring - or what it might take away.

The nose of his beloved _Tonasteria _grasped at the air for one moment longer, as if taking her single last breath, before giving up and sinking into murky depths. She was gone, and Toris was still staring at where she had been long after.

That mysterious, deadly, cold hearted man - where had he gone? Toris was not brave enough, not courageous nor clever nor strong enough - he had absolutely no connections with anyone but his mother, whom he still took care of - to chase after that man; he knew this. But he would get his payback, one way or another. Toris was shaking, freezing, and probably on the verge of hypothermia. His wet clothes still clung onto him for dear life, and his long befriended _Tonasteria_ had down and left him because of that one man. Yes, the man was going to pay - and there were no rules that stated the payment had to be physical.

Mental, emotional - there were many other means. Those Toris could do plenty. He may not have connections with useful individuals who could seriously aid in his task - but it never meant that those he knew didn't.

For once, his normal hesitation and fear, stammering and uncertainty was gone. He was certain. It was clear. He had a goal, something he'd not particularly had before.

He got up, staggered down the street, and headed home. Morning had already come, but everything was always a cycle - darkness would come again.

What had he done? Toris didn't know. All he had done wrong was exchange a few words with a possible acquaintance of the man who had sunk his ship. But for whatever he did, and whether or not the man was still chasing him; if he had ever been chasing him at all; he would be ready.

He would definitely be ready.

* * *

"That - that is a lot of money."

"Of course it is, what else would I be sent off to do?"

"V6 normally tells you to go kill someone or to go fuck off."

"I basically did both, so I guess he didn't have to tell me that this time."

"Better for your health, I'll add. He doesn't like repeating things."

"Who does?"

"Those without abnormally short tempers."

"If I'm not mistaken, you should be used to it by now - after all, you've been living with short tempered men most of your life."

"You've got a point there."

"Well, go on and take that back to him. He knows where to find me if I'm needed for another task."

"Should I tell him which country you're going to be in?"

For a moment, there was only the small patter of retreating footsteps.

"He already knows."

* * *

**Woah! Third chapter out the next day? That's insane! Well - of course I typed up half of it while I was on a little writers block for chapter 2, but still. I seriously can't keep cheerful moods up; I've only ever written stories of either violence, death, destruction, or depression. This has to be my first semi-cheerful story. Hope I do okay!**

**This chapter is dedicated to my good friend, whom you can find under the user of Anonymous-Saint on DeviantART! Here's a little action for you, boi~**

**I was really tempted to kill Toris off in this chapter, because the first person killed wasnt even important. But it would be useless to kill him now, because we havent given him enough time to connect with you guys. In fact, I'm already starting to like him too much to kill him off. I'll probably hurt someone else eventually, as thats what the plot calls for.**

**Danke~!**


	4. Chapter 4

"Sup, Lud."

Ludwig looked to the side from his leaned position against the wall, greeting his coworker and boss with a nod of his head. The other held a bundle of papers in his hands and the back shadow of puzzled expression, but successfully and involuntarily hid it with a grateful smile as he walked over to the idling man.

"What are you doing here? It took ages to find you."

Ludwig directed his gaze straight ahead of him, into the reeking jail cell that showed the source of its smell all over the walls. He ignored this though, instead peering with genuine interest at the small figure curled up like a kitten on a stiff mattress bed behind the bars. Alfred wrinkled his nose in disgust, oblivious to what his comrade was staring at until adjusting to the smell a bit and taking in more of his surroundings.

"Hey, is that the shooter?" Alfred asked in surprise, following Ludwig's line of sight. When the German nodded, he tilted his head a little in thought.

"Not vhat you expected?" Ludwig asked after a moment's silence. His boss shrugged.

"Artie told me he was small, but I thought in just height. He has nothing going for him physically. Especially not enough to be sneaking rifles across continents."

Ludwig's mouth straightened into a line as he pondered what Alfred had said. It just didn't make any sense. "Maybe that's vhat makes him such a dangerous enemy. He is unexpected."

Alfred silently agreed, and his coworker could tell by the way he leaned up against the wall with him. They sat in comfortable silence for a beat or two, before Alfred spoke to interrupt it. "What are you doing here anyway? Our jobs don't require us to be here, you know. All we do is drop 'em off."

Ludwig set his jaw before answering, "I vanted to talk to Vargas, but he's been asleep since I got here."

"Eli said you were here yesterday too," Alfred continued. The blonde man beside him peered over his surprise, before shrugging and replying truthfully.

"Yes. Yesterday I vas able to get a vord or two out of him."

The American officer stood up straight and stuffed his hands unconsciously into the depths of his pockets, lifting his chin in a partial nod of understanding. It had been a habit he'd picked up when he was much younger, and though Ludwig and the rest of the team had been skeptical at first about Alfred's teenage behaviours and youth, it turned out that Alfred had a lot more to offer than met the eye. The German had learned to deal with his 'slang' and carefree attitude expressed through his subtle gestures. "Like what?" he asked, turning to face Ludwig.

Ludwig shrugged, "Not much. I vas just asking him things like vhy he vas vanting to go to Italy. He answered everything I asked but vhy he vas trying to get a gun through." The blonde almost looked disappointed, and Alfred's trademark smile returned in a blast of sunshine.

"You veren't expecting that Vargas vould tell us who he vas trying to hurt, ja?" said he, and Ludwig shot him a glare.

"No, I vas not, actually - and you might vant to stop that," he replied plainly.

Alfred pouted, "Stop vhat?"

"Vhat you are horribly trying to mock."

"I vas not mocking you, though. I vas merely speaking."

"And you'll regret saying a vord."

"Threatening your boss, are you?"

"Ja."

Before they could go any further in their quarrel, there was a stir from within the room. Alfred was the first to stop and look, to no surprise from Ludwig - he had been selected for a lead job in criminal justice, after all; it took skill to get up there - and he followed suit, so that they were both staring at the small Italian man as he sat up from the wood like bed and rubbed his eyes.

"Woah! It's just like in the freaking movies, when a bunch of cops go chasing after a bunch Mexican badasses on the loose!"

Ludwig stared at Alfred's back, "He's not Mexi-"

"I should have recognized the name!"

By that time, Feliciano Vargas was staring at the two men standing on the other side of his cell. One he was already familiar with - he knew the blonde to be persistent and stubborn, but observant for the most part. Which was really creepy. The other one though, who was tall and had large glasses perched on his nose, he didn't recognize. All he could do was focus on that sandy-haired man who seemed to be talking to no one in particular, his words flying over Feliciano's head in a blur. Why were they there - had they been watching him sleep? That was an even more scary thought than the blonde one watching him while he was awake!

Alfred gestured to Ludwig, who Feliciano just knew as Blondie, and Ludwig stepped forward to the bars where Alfred was at. He had already given up on trying to convince the man of Feliciano's nationaliy. "What was it that Vargas told you yesterday?"

Ludwig hesitated, but Alfred didn't seem to notice. He was too intent on Feliciano, who had curled up in the furthest spot from them possible.

"Vell, you see-"

"I see a man who just shot everything in a public airport hiding in an emo corner."

Alfred didn't even turn around when he had said that, and Ludwig shot him another icy glare. "If you don't vant me to answer, I von't." The American just shook his head, signaling for the German man to continue.

More hesitation.

"I never actually said that I could understand vhat Vargas told me," trailed Ludwig after a reasonable amount of silence. Alfred frowned.

"You mean that you could have heard "Fuck you bitch, all you motherfuckers might as well go die in a fucking ditch you assholes," and you could have mistaken it for "Kind sir who arrested me, may I please go to the bathroom?" kind of not understanding?" confirmed Alfred uncertainly. Ludwig blinked in surprise at his uncharacteristic bluntness, but decided to let it go with a nod.

Alfred sighed, "He speaks Mexican, and we don't have a translator. How did he even get into the airport?" he asked to no directed person once more, while his coworker internally debated whether or not correcting the American's terms. In the end, Ludwig chose to not do anything about it - deciding that embarrassing himself was Alfred's official payback for mocking him.

Feliciano lifted his eyes an inch from his knees, his vision darting around the entire room to try and take in what the two men on the other side of his cell could be saying. He doubted even if they were speaking Italian that he would understand them, as their speech looked so fast that it seemed as if they were about to tie their tongue in a knot on accident. He instantly became amused with the image.

"Is he laughing at us?" exclaimed Alfred in disbelief, blinking rapidly at the suddenly rosy cheeked and smiling prisoner in front of them.

Ludwig was equally bewildered, as he was certain that the Italian man couldn't understand a word they were saying. It was even clearly stated in many of the guides he had read - someone could fake that they didn't understand, but their mind would always react differently and you could end up telling based on their body language. Unless they were unusually skilled - that was something else entirely. Vargas, to be truthful, didn't look like he had any skill at all in Ludwig's eyes - at least not a useful skill to the blonde - but then again, he had managed to surprise them all with an entire AR-15. Who knew what else he could pull out of a random pocket?

The German, however, recognized something immediately after that thought, "He's diverting his eyes now and looking at the ground. He thought of something funny - if he vas laughing at us, he vould be looking at us the whole time."

Indeed, Ludwig was right. Feliciano had returned back to his former position in attempts to control his giggling. Now though, he was slightly alarmed. What if their tongue really did tie in a knot? Or what if their tongues tripped over themselves and fell out of their mouth? His face scrunched up in disgust.

"I can't help but agree with him about that floor," stated Alfred while observing the man, having heard what Ludwig said but changing topics anyway.

Ludwig shook his head, choosing not to try and chase Alfred around as he jumped from conversation focus to conversation focus, "I really vant to know vhy he vas going to Italy, or even how he vas stupid enough to try and sneak so many loaded veapons there," the German man wondered outloud.

"It shouldn't be too hard to find a Mexican translator, right? I mean, a lot of people speak Mexican around here." Ludwig paused to peer curiously at his boss. Surely Vargas didn't actually look Spanish to Alfred, right? The language did sound Spanish, he had to admit, but his looks were definitely Italian- not that Ludwig cared or anything. It was hard not to observe certain facts when you've been in the same room as them for hours. Besides, Vargas had been going to Italy, not Spain or Mexico. If he was going to Italy, he might as well speak its language.

Ludwig swiped a hand tiredly down his face as Alfred jumped with a new realisation. "Why didn't I think of that before?" he exclaimed. When the blonde next to him looked at him oddly, he went on. "Matthew knows a bunch of languages. In High school he was always taking multiple classes for them, and when he came home he'd answer everything I asked in whatever he was studying instead of English. It sucked, because whenever I asked where mom had gone, he'd reply in like French or something."

Within seconds, Alfred was by the door. Even Ludwig, who had been a military officer, was surprised at the speed in which he had disappeared. "I'll be right back!" the blue-eyed man shouted, far louder than necessary. Feliciano finally looked up in shock to see the prison doors sliding shut. "I'm sure Matthew will be able to get something out of him!" were the distant words both men heard as the American raced down the halls.

* * *

"Alfred?"

Arthur, who normally stayed from late night to early afternoons at the headquarters as one of the few 24-hour exceptions, yelped in surprise as Alfred sped right up to his computer desk. Just that day, Arthur had his hours changed to early morning and late afternoons, and was still getting used to seeing Alfred up and about, who came in the late mornings and remained almost the entire day. He couldn't say that he appreciated the change of peace in his work now that he and his coworker were able to see each other more often. Elizaveta, who had her work station just a few ways away from the two of them, spun her chair around to watch the commotion.

"Artie!" grinned Alfred, "I'm going out and I'll be right back, so don't freak if you can't find me. I'm not taking a sheriff's car or anything. Ludwig is in the prison next door." The police station sat as almost a neighbor to the federal prison that criminals were delivered, making it easier to stay in contact with the security guards of the place, who unlike others were part of the basic criminal justice unit combined with the sheriffs of the city, and received orders and commands from the sheriffs unit in case of emergency. Security guards often went to the police station for political and financial affairs as well, and sheriffs went there to interrogate their prisoners, which had been becoming more and more common as of recent times. A small pod connected to the police station and the prison held criminals who had yet to enter court, and were open to anyone part of the criminal justice unit. In barely a few pants, Alfred detached himself from the Englishman's desk and made to run off again. Arthur yelled at him to stop.

"Where are you going, you crazy git?" he asked in the same mixture of anger and curiousity. Alfred's eyes gleamed.

"You know that guy you and Lud brought in yesterday, the Mexican one? Turns out he can't speak English, so I'm going to go and try to find Mattie and bring him back here to translate."

Arthur blinked, momentarily caught off guard, "Matthew's a translator?"

"Sort of!" confirmed his boss, "You know how you only have to learn one other language in High school and College? Well, he took up the job to learn practically a million! I mean, he even went to other countries to become fluent. Spanish is suppose to be easier than English, so I'm sure he'll be able to translate what Vargas is saying, no problemo!"

Seconds later, the double doors of the large sheriff headquarters building slowly drifted shut behind the rapidly retreating figure of Alfred Jones. Arthur shook his head in disbelief, placing a palm to his forehead as he focused his attention back to his desk, where a different report case had been laid before him. Behind him, his coworker Elizaveta cleared her throat.

"Just so you know, hot Italian tans and hot Spanish tans are very different."

* * *

**Ahh! I'm so unhappy with this chapter. I wanted to make it longer, too, instead of having it as just a filler. Next one needs to have more action, or I'm going to start lacking motivation!**

**Also, I apologize with the slight lateness of this chapter. I was helping my bruder prepare to get his tests for his G.E.D, since he was kicked out of high school. AND HE GOT IT! My bruder now gets to officially go to the Art Institute and begin his education to be a movie director! If he becomes a director, he wants me to be a co-writer. Sort of why my writing as been drifting to more 'visuals' lately, if I'm going to study more into script writing. I'll admit, I suck.**

**I even was called up for a job as an actor in a nearby theatre, and they have yet to call me back to see if I got the part. Sadly, it was my first time on the stage, so I didn't necessarily have a monologue - figuring they were going to give me a script. Turns out, they didnt (which they never told me about, but I guess I'm at fault), and gave me a small part to act out when finding I didnt have anything. It was a voice part, so I voice acted instead of actually acted, and they didn't seem too happy about that. I didnt even know what I was acting before I acted it, and I'd say I did pretty good with that as the case. -Still, I wasn't able to act, so I doubt I'm going to be called to return to the stage with the other selected actors. (I didnt even know the job I was called for was acting, since I had applied for multiple jobs.)**

**Anyway, I need to get an important note out there before I submit this chapter;**

_**EVERYTHING TO DO WITH THE CRIMINAL JUSTICE UNIT, PRISONS, POLICE OFFICERS, GOVERNMENT, POLITICS, ETC - IT'S ALL MADE UP. THIS ISN'T IN CURRENT TIME, AND IT'S ALL MADE UP, AND I MADE IT THAT WAY BECAUSE I ABSOLUTELY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE REAL ORGANIZATION DEAL IS. **_

**Obviously I know nothing about the criminal justice unit. I don't even know what the Super Bowl is.**

**~Cry**


End file.
